My Dearest Sister
by Dominique Sotto
Summary: A collection of letters by two adopted sisters (a Consular and a Smuggler) adventuring across the Galaxy far-far away. Or one player's attempt at inserting a romance where BioWARE didn't add one (Zenith). Tharan is shouldering his way in too.
1. Chapter 1

Ord Mantell

My Dearest Sister, greetings and salutations!

First of all, congratulations on that new glow-stick of yours. You wanted it badly, and I am certain that you've got all the appropriate Ah! and Oh! from our honorable mother, may she live a long and prosperous life. Me, I just want to know what color you've got, and if you don't like it, well, a new crystal is on me.

Also, do tell more about the lizard-man who trails after you now. I laughed and laughed at that holo you've sent. On the black lonely night crawling through space I was imagining you sparring with the hulky Knights. How dreadfully wrong I was!

Now, to the important things. Some creep of a sep snatched my ship. With the cargo. There is a very good Twi'lek word to describe my feelings, but I am afraid it will be lost on you. It's a pity honorable Mother shipped you off to the Jedi before I could teach you a proper way to express yourself. Speaking of Twi'leks, thanks for giving a hand to the Pilgrims, they've got the right idea about how my birth-people should go about governing. Very decent of you.

Almost forgot: the guy who was supposed to guard my ship lost his rifle. Or a blaster or whatever it was, I must have passed out while he was rattling about the thing. What an idiot! There is something unsettling about him. But he is still an idiot.

Gotta run, many hugs, and keep those horns clean,

Tishujen

P.S. Did our beloved Uncle send you his latest version of the noble Bao-Dur's biography? I've gotten three so far, but as the vessel of the family's hopes and aspirations and the last descendant of the said noble Zabrak, you should have at least seven. Am I right? Really gotta run! Someone with a gentle name Butcher is supposed to give me a hand with getting the ship back. Desperate times, you know…


	2. Chapter 2

Republic Station

Salute, Tishujen,

I have not told Mother about your ship, fearing that she would plunge the Galaxy into another war to get it back, along with placing a dozen of holocalls to you about being more careful with your things. Lying is hard for me, so please, please, please hurry up and get the old clunker back. But, beware of anyone calling himself a Butcher. It doesn't bode well. Also be wary of any man overly fond of weapons. And forgive me for sounding just like Mother.

My lightsaber is green. I am grateful for your kind offer, but I do not wish to change anything about my blade. It is unique. Tishujen, it is the very first lightsaber ever made in the history of the Order by Master Rajivari! Can you imagine?! I alternate between awe and giddy excitement carrying it.

I know not what to make of Qyzen. He honors me as something akin to a judge or a spiritual figure of his people. I have yet to understand the meaning of it. He loves to hunt. No! This is not the way to put it. He lives for the hunt. And… I don't know what else to say. As for the hulky knights, Hiboco is large enough, I suppose. We work well together.

Tishujen, I tried to do my best for your blood-people. I have completed a ritual the Matriarch had devised to bring all the inhabitants of the Tython together. I carried a torch to the summit of a local mountain, and I lit the signal fires. It was a stirring experience. Alas, our sister-tie left me unprepared to face the unfortunate hostility among the Pilgrims. I regret to tell you, but it was my first time to meet a Twi'lek blade to blade. He was a man called Nalen Raloch, captured and twisted by the darkness. I am happy that I've had enough wisdom to spare him, for he had has repented and is recovering. So is my pride, for your people are quite handsome, and I have never felt far-too-taller and clumsier in my life than when visiting with them.

I apologize for being brief. My heart is heavy, for my new Master Yuon Par lay near death. I write this in the cantina on the Republic Station, expecting my shuttle to Coruscant where I may find a cure. I hope.

May the Force guard you and light your ways, dear Sister,

Quinly

P.S. I have eleven versions of the noble Bao-Dur's biography, Tishujen. Eleven! Please, relent on teasing me on my ties to the Dur clan. As you well know, our branch of the family is quite distant and junior, no matter the Uncle's fantasies.


	3. Chapter 3

Ord Mantell (still!)

Greetings and salutations, Quinly!

It was less than sisterly to mention Hiboco and leave it at that. I expect more, much more. Also, next time you commune with Force or some such, do mention that my ways are unlit, unguided and thorny.

My dearest, do not apologize for putting the business end of your sword to a Twi'lek. I have killed a score and a half of your people, my people, humans and nearly rounded it off with one Kathar, and all that in a matter of hours. I've always thought I'd watch the war from the landing plank of my ship, and here I am, caught in the middle of one. I've stopped looking at the dead faces to see who they were.

It's good for business, of course. When life grows cheap, coins flow easily. The trick is to cut and run somewhere you can spend it. Some nice place… this place could have been it, you know. They have these purple flowers studding the long golden grass, and the gray sea beyond. Only it is littered with seps. They pump kids full of stims and propaganda till the kids turn into killing drones. I've talked to one of these kids. Terrible. The Republic doesn't care when the refugees die in droves, some so called heroic soldiers even explode them for fun. But I've seen some kindness too. That Kathar I've so nearly killed stole medicine to help the sick in the camp. Only she stole it from the soldiers, and if the soldiers die, wouldn't they all die, only in a better health? Who knows what's right any more?

This is turning out so dull, but I am tired, sister! I haven't slept, and on top of it, not a single thing I wear is my own. My entire wardrobe sailed away with Skavak (I bet he looks gorgeous in that red silk number), so I had to help myself. The little leather jacket in the Jedi shade of brown is not half-bad, tight in all the right places. I have a feeling Riggs liked it.

I've almost forgot: he'd turned up again. Corso Riggs that is. He'd even said he'd like to tag along, but it wasn't the jacket, it was a personal grudge against the seps. Ah, well. I should be thinking about Skavak, the nicker of my ship. One knave at a time!

Still alive,

Tishujen

P.S. I have discovered a book that makes Uncle's writings a riveting read. The dreadful rogue used a book on bird watching for his cipher. I had to read it cover to cover to sneak into the sep's base and get the intel on Skavak. I do not wish to see another description of subtle plumage differences in my life!


	4. Chapter 4

Coruscant

Greetings and salutations, Quinly!

I haven't heard back from you, so I've assumed an important Jedi business, rather than the worst. Please, get in touch as soon as you can. Riggs and I made it to the capital. Wow, I will have to backtrack here, on Riggs.

Remember the Butcher? I've tried to coax him into being nice to me by traipsing across the enemy lines with a load of unstable explosives in my back pocket. Riggs, well, Riggs gave me his blaster before I made this run. Named Flashy, how stupid is this? I guess he was impressed. The Butcher was not, so instead of being reasonable and helping me to track down my ship, he turned around and put a bounty on my head. I feel mighty important.

Skavak double-crossed the seps, and took my ship, my cargo and a junky droid to Coruscant. Luckily, a bimbo he dumped on Mantell, Syreena, put Riggs and I on the next flight to our glorious capital. I couldn't very well leave Riggs behind, just didn't feel right, you know? And his old contact on Coruscant did come through to help me locate Skavak – found us a right smart slicer who made Skavak's record disappear and let him fly under the radar. Well, thanks to her, he's got a bright target painted on his head for all the Republic's best to see once again. Took some doing (read: killing by the score), and I probably have the local Black Sun mob outfit after me for my efforts, but it was worth it.

That Syreena is the last lady Skavak's going to cross, if I can help it. I asked the slicer to add a couple lines to Skavak's resume that ought to make it hard for him to get within a shooting distance of any woman with half-a-brain. Those without… well, I can't save everyone, certainly not those who do stupid for a man.

As soon as I get a trace on Skavak, I am off this rock, so I'm going to miss your arrival. I stashed a holorecord for you in the Dealer's Den. It's some senator consorting with the gangs, but they say she's not as bad as most of them. I figured you are better than I at figuring what's the best thing to do. I've already mucked up the local politics, helping out some secret society to expose a Sith-loving senator. Not legit at all, but Riggs thought they were alright. Not that I'm out to impress Riggs, but he's watching my back and all, so I am better off if he is smiling.

On the run,

Tishujen

P.S. To honor Coruscant, I suppose, Riggs got a haircut. It looks a bit less scary now… but still, hair, eww. Humans and their hair… I am wondering just how far it advances on their males. Because, I swear, there are some at Riggs' _collar_, would you believe that?


	5. Chapter 5

Coruscant

Salute, Tishujen!

Our company was indeed delayed en route to Coruscant. We have hoped to arrive earlier by boarding a Republican ship _Esseles_, but came under attack from the Empire. Due in a large part to Hibocos' heroic actions, we've protected a Republican Ambassador that travelled incognito and was the Imperial target.

This is probably a good place to tell you of Hiboco, as you have asked. He adds Loco to his name, but I do not know if it is a clan name, or a reflection on his character from the fellow padawans. The man is quite large by human standards, and has a face that most people find trustworthy. He has a knack for both saying and doing the right thing, and that is becoming a rare quality indeed. The Captain insinuated that we should sacrifice the Ambassador Asara to save his crew! I had a shade of doubt myself when we had to stand up to a Sith, but not Hiboco, who charged the foul creature bravely. However, if it was not for T7-O1 droid who courageously drew our attacker's wrath away from Hiboco, I would not be writing to you.

The Sith grow ever more powerful, and the Empire - bolder. Tishujen, this incident makes me think that your escape from the war was but temporary, as it was for us all. Alas. Still, I am gravely concerned about your precarious position. Take care, dearest sister, and keep your blaster close to hand.

I believe you had done well by leaving the evidence to the Jedi. The Senator in question is resigning from her position. Now that this is done, I must leave the glorious halls and search the underbelly of this city to find the ancient lore that may explain my Master's ailment. She is seeing the unseen, Tishujen, and rages against it.

I hesitate to bring up another worry, yet I fear I must. Tishujen, my dearest sister, I have noticed the same name come up in nearly every line of your last letter. A man overly fond of weapons and so unanchored as to take off on a whim is dangerous in the best of times, and ours are troubled.

May the Force shield you and yours,

Quinly

P.S. I have verified with Hiboco, and he confirms that hair is quite widespread over all areas of a human men's body, though he allows that it varies from one individual to another. By some reason he found the query exceptionally amusing.


	6. Chapter 6

My _new_ Freighter's Bridge

Oh, Quinly, I am finally, finally, FINALLY flying a bird! When I last wrote you, I thought Skavak was a blaster's shot away. Nothing's ever easy. Riggs and I tracked down the contact, but had to spring her brother from some vigilante order's gaol to get the digits on Skavak. The scum tangled himself with the vigilantes and the Imperials, running a shady recovery op for them. Of course when we bust them, he ran for it, leaving Riggs, me and a surprisingly decent Sullustan Peace Officer in a grand shoot-out. Would have been fun, except the PO did not make through. You know just how well I usually get along with the officialdom, but I will burn Skavak a big one for Miel, I promise you that.

The downside is that Skavak's still dragging his slime across the galaxy. The upside: his shipmaster was most understanding of the fact that this girl has to fly. It only took a few shots on our part for him to charge a ship (and upgrades) to Skavak's account. Here I am, on the bridge. Well, we are. I've inherited Skavak's latest 'get rich fast' scheme along with the brain behind it. It (the brain) sits in a pretty head of a serious business woman called Risha. You can now break the radio-silence with Mother: I have a decent ship, a decent job and a decent man. Well, make it _almost_ on the man.

Quinly, you've read Riggs wrong. Look, if I ever come across a peace-loving well-adjusted man, I'll send him your way, promise. Not that it's likely, seeing I don't walk the serene halls, so you are on your own for that, dear sister. Riggs might not be a Jedi Sage, but... well, we've talked some. He's going to settle in a good backward place, mark my words, and live an honest life. He'll be far better at it than my wayward Father, wherever he is, may the Force be kind to him. I know Dur always feared I'd fall for a man like Dad, but no, I am not seeing Dad in Riggs. Riggs is all _me_, as I would have been if your formidable Mother did not march in and commandeer me after my Mom got shot.

His story is much like mine: the whole family's gone in war. Well, not all of it. We've tracked his cheerful cousin. Riggs thought she's a humanitarian. Ha! He kept thinking that while swallowing a packet of 'medicine' to take to the Black Suns' turf. I stood there with my mouth shut, until he finally figured that he was duped into trafficking spice. _Then_ I put the blaster to someone's temple and produced gentle Rona for Riggs. All glorious in her Black Sun regalia too. Big time gang-leader, or so she thinks.

Riggs took it hard, I've never seen him drink deep before. But, you know what, sister? A drunk man who'd come onto a Twi'lek and, instead of groping her, blub about treating her right, can't be all bad. That's new to me, Quinly: I drew men like Skavak in every port, and they were not under assumption they're courting a lady. I didn't dance for any man, and don't intend to, but, Quinly, to be fair, Riggs got warmth. For a pallid human that is.

Chasing the treasure trove,

Tishujen

P.S. Riggs got real nice eyes though. That dark blue didn't come of human stock, I wager.


	7. Chapter 7

Ord Mantell

Tishujen, salute!

I am thrilled to hear that you are space-worthy again. I have spoken to Mother. She suggested (forcefully) that you should suspend your decent job for a period of time necessary to bring over your decent ship for an inspection to Iridonia. I am quite positive that it is not the ship she means to subject to scrutiny. The above makes me grateful that Mother deeply respects the Order's regulations and my choice of a sword over a man.

Still, I could not bring myself to tell her of my new mission. I stood before the Noetikons' simulation of the most enlightened of the Masters of old, including the steadfast Bastilla Shan – an honor I could not have imagined in my most daring dreams! – and they revealed that a Sith Lord uses an ancient curse of

Terrak Morrage to force my Master into madness. Under better circumstances, I would have loved to research the subject thoroughly. Alas, the present is too dire to seek escape in the glorious past.

I thwarted the Sith by learning how to shielded Master Yuon, cut her lose from the evil manipulations. Attros Finn, the brilliant researcher I am working with rejoiced (and was exceedingly courteous, I wonder if our path should cross again?).

Yet, this is but the start. Like the disease of body spread by rakghouls, this Sith, the Plaguemaster, will corrupt and destroy a Jedi after Jedi. In the last known epidemic the Healer has given his life to save the others. May I have the strength to follow his noble sacrifice, for the Sith destroyed the knowledge necessary for any other to learn the shielding.

I am presently on Ord Mantell, accompanying Hiboco and Kira Carsen in their chase after a weapon that may doom the galaxy that through a terrible act of treason has fallen into the hands of the Empire. The hand of the Dark Counsel reaches further and squeezes comrade's world is a tragic place, and I can see how it could twist a good man. I apologize if I judged Corso Riggs unfairly and hastily. I can only hope that our actions will contribute to restoring peace here and elsewhere and mayhap show the damaged souls the path to healing.

May the Force be with you,

Quinly

P.S. I cannot guess Mother's reason in keeping the following from you. I do not wish to do the same, particularly if I should perish in my quest. Please, forgive me for putting this on a datapad. Mother inquired into your Father's whereabouts immediately upon you joining our family. He was killed in a brawl within a year of dishonoring himself by deserting both the service and his family. I am sorry, Tishujen.


	8. Chapter 8

Taris, Olaris Mess Hall

Greetings and Salutations, Quinly,

That's a 'no' on you dying on me too. You hear that?! Dad's enough for me to come to grips with. Taris is the most depressing radioactive dump in the Outer Rims as is, and I don't care how famous a battlefield it was back in Revan's times. Riggs and I are stuck in its stinky heart, because Risha's contact won't give us the intel on that fated fortune unless we play mules for her.

I bought a sweet speeder, but there ain't such thing as _too fast_ for this place. Yesterday, Riggs and I were shooting rakghouls, trying to get to a skull pile to rout the critters, and the ramp was ruined. I've jumped the curb. Riggs dragged me to one of those heroic types, a doctor who tries to check rakghouls' expansion to fix me up. Don't know how Riggs made it down. Can't guess how he dragged me up those endless ramps. Fact is, he did.

But there was no fixing Flashy. I thought Riggs is going to be mad about his first blaster I scrapped in a fortnight, but he just shrugged it off. Then he took me by the elbow, led me aside, and told me to close my eyes. Right there, in the middle of the stinky midden heap of a planet. Nah, he did show better judgment than try to kiss me. Instead, he put another blaster in my hands. A pretty one, from the Mandalorian Wars times, unless I miss my guess.

I don't know how to tell him that I will stuff this one full of modern tech to make it burn. Why is it always like that with Riggs?

I am much like my new partner, that Risha woman. To outwit, outgun and outlive - that's all there is to me. But Riggs looks at me, and he sees other purposes to me, the whole heroic betterment of the world in ye classy Dur style. One of us gotta give, for him to not end up disappointed. Or me.

P.S: I spoke to Mother, and managed to convince her to wait till Father Dur, Bayar-Dur and Morat-Dur are deployed again. Mother is enough for anyone to take in. Riggs can do without the Flower of Zabrak Military flanking her.


	9. Chapter 9

Taris, Olaris Mess Hall

Tishujen, salute!

The Force willed it that both Hiboco's investigation and mine own quest led our small party to Taris in your wake.

We have stormed a hideout in search of the scientist abducted by the Imps... or, rather, Imperial infiltrators, I should have said. The RE-M0 droid we have encountered during our attack have a way of expressing itself that is highly contagious. It… or rather he, for this remarkable droid has more personality than many of the Empire Servants we have encountered, helped Hiboco and Kira triangulate the location where the scientists (whose name I must omit in a casual correspondence) may be held. Their new nemesis was revealed, the sinister Watcher One. The Empire robs its servants even of their names.

I have tracked the remnants of the expedition led by Master Tykan, but not before the plague drove him to mad and horrid deeds. Who am I to judge him? Tishujen, in a moment of high emotions, where I saw two humans burning in a fire he set, I chose to lift them out of danger, instead of the holocrons the expedition recovered. The holocrons are now lost. I might have saved two lives, and doomed thousands, for the data might have saved many. I have meditated on this choice all night, and I am no closer to peace this morning. My one redemption is to find and heal Master Tykan before he dooms others. Or I do.

While my thoughts are of doom, Tishujen, this morning the Mess was full of the disturbing rumors that an off-world twi'lek Captain allowed herself to be infected by the rakghoul plague to perfect the vaccine. I know in my heart it was you, and I know not if you were driven by a noble impulse or of the devil-may-care mood I gleaned in your last letter.

I do not mean to imply that your task is unimportant, however, mine is urgent, and I cannot abandon it to seek you out. I implore you to take the time and see me instead. We must talk however improper it is by the tenants of the Jedi Order.

May the Force stay what is haunting you,

Quinly

P.S: How I wish I had your freedom to visit Iridonia and embrace Mother, Father and my Brothers. Bayar-Dur has always meant you well, Tishujen, despite your frequent quarrels.


	10. Chapter 10

Taris, Two Hours South from Nowhere

Greeting and salutations, Quinly!

We are making a run for the Vault to pick up Risha's precious astrochart (finally), then I will shop for fuel and such in Olaris for a few hours. Make the meet, sister.

Stupid rumors! It wasn't as saintly as sacrificing myself for the miserable population of Taris. And it was not a death wish nearly come true either. It was ye plain, old-fashioned idiocy: I wanted to get a rise out of Riggs.

See here, I double-crossed Beryl (Beryl being that Risha's frenemy who sent us to recover core samples and her poor partner's remains). Well, boo-hoo! The partner turned out alive and kicking (and not bad-looking either). The core samples turned out to be relics, and Beryl intended to ship them to the survivors of Taris… or some such bleeding heart thing instead of fleecing the Imps (RE-MO sounds like a kind of a droid I could put up with. _My_ ship droid tried to attach a lunchbag to my holster, can't believe it belonged to Skavak.). Beryl's man on the ground figured the fakes will do just as well for her purposes, and we shook hands. Riggs shot me a dirty look and clammed up.

On we continued walking in a sullen silence afterwards, burning everything that moved. Worse than Bayar-Dur in the olden days whenever he figured I didn't blink the right way or whatnot. I hazarded a guess that Riggs didn't like me any longer. Then a pirate smashed me square in the face (the knave didn't save enough creds for a vibroblade, I guess), and (Cor- stricken out) Riggs went berserk with the flamethrower on the luckless bullyboy. I swear, I just about smashed _Riggs_ in the face so he snaps out of it. I didn't; I gave him a wide berth instead.

More silence issued. I hate silence! So, yes, I got myself infected. Saved the planet or as near as it gets. Even told the good doctor to distribute the vaccine for free – no skin of my lekku. I wouldn't have seen a cred from the sales regardless. Riggs just stood there, his arms folded across his chest and watched my promising, watched my getting bitten. He did pick me up, threw me onto the speeder and rode me to Brell top jet, but that hardly counts as _talking_, right? Couldn't say anything if I wanted to: my face was squashed against his chest (smelt like smoke, leather and sweat). Maybe he was a shade paler before the medical droid told us I'm not about to start chewing on a fellow sentient, but who could tell, what with the human complexion, and the road dirt?

Riggs finally opened his mouth to tell me what? _Let's go warn Beryl that the custom agent is hot on her track_. Seriously, Riggs, _Beryl?!_ Oh, what do I care if one human fancies another! Enough of it. I need a steady hand at the Vault. Nok Drayen's treasure awaits! Skavak is not going to be there, a pity, but he sent a crew in. And I am going beat this son of a gangrenous bantha to anything he wants.

See you soon, say hi to heroic Hiboco for me, and keep your horns clean!

P.S: Almost forgot. At a Chemical Plant (long story), there was that vile glowing radioactive liquid, and it gave Riggs' face a very fetching shade of green. His face looked handsome once it had a bit of color. The hair though, eww.


	11. Chapter 11

Taris, Back of the Beyond

Salute, Tishujen!

I presume that of the uttermost interest to you are my impressions of Corso Riggs after our supper together at the Mess. It is quite obvious that the female charms are not lost on your associate. However, rest assured, if it is Corso Riggs that you want, you will have him. It is in the way he glances at you after even a minute remark, even the softest chuckle, and how he anticipates you. Stay your risk-taking, if the suspense was what drove it.

It _was_ good to see you, Tishujen.

Peculiarly, the tension between Corso Riggs and you is palpable enough to inflict upon the others. I was surprised to experience the awareness of a stranger being a man after we've parted. Hiboco and I tracked down a shipment of warheads that had fallen into the hands of the Mandalorians, and ever since I found myself scanning the outposts for Major Teranos. I have not felt this longing since my substitute Weapon Master had joyously left the teaching position for a field assignment in the Temple. I must take time to meditate and erase this subconscious desire, for it may lead to unforeseen and tragic consequences if a woman is as strong in the Force as I am.

Hiboco commented to that extent when we came face to face with a hunting Sith Lord, a pure-blood who had not bridled her Force use at all, and shamelessly bonded even the beasts to do her bidding. And for what? To erase a settlement of simple citizens going about their lives! I must say, if I had a trace of curiosity for the way of the Sith, it had disappeared as we faced this… this abomination. Later, as well, Darth Angral, came in an unflattering light compared to a simple Empire officer, the Watcher One. Qyzen Fess disagreed with Hiboco on sparing the Watcher's life, however I believe the man did deserve to go free since it is through him that we have stopped the beastmaster Sith on her wild hunt. Qyzen Fess is a simple creature, and I am unsure that he should follow me much long.

I have finally located Master Tykan, but not before he's wrecked a terrible havoc at the Expedition Base and nearly wiped out the Taris population by causing an explosion of a nuclear plant. Yet again I faced the terrible consequences of a Jedi allowing the control of her mind to slip out of her grip. I do feel grateful for the bond between Master Tykan's padawan and him that helped me stop the catastrophe, so at times it may be a pure thing. But what a risk!

I must meditate now to rein in my inappropriate thoughts, and to repair what damage I can from shielding Master Tykan. I must have enough for what waits for us on Nar Shaddaa. We must delay here for a time however, since the Governor appealed to our help once again.

May the Force guard Corso Riggs and you,

P.S: It is peculiar how once you start thinking on the subject, it comes up everywhere it seems. I have uncovered a few passages in the Uncle's writings on the Exile's bond to the Lost Jedi including the esteemed Bao-Dur. It is frightening, that even when well-intended… I must meditate now.


	12. Chapter 12

The Most Beautiful Place in the Galaxy

Oh, Quinly, I am over my head!

Well, to start with, I've started missing Mother after I saw you in Olaris. So, we went to Nar-Shaddaa by the way of Iridonia. Luckily, Risha said she was too busy with cracking the astrochart, and did not want the shore leave. Or, that's what I thought, figuring that Riggs is the least objectionable of the two to tag along. If only! Apparently, I was not the only one who's missed Mother. Father Dur managed to arrange a longer leave, after Bayar and Morat have left… Surprise!

I wish I was in a better books with the Force or something, Quinly. Look, we troop into Dur's flat. As soon as Riggs spots Father Dur, right after the introductions, he stands to attention, and blasts out: "Sir, I realize this ain't conventional, but seeing as to how I have no Father to speak on my behalf, Sir, may I be so bold as to ask for your permission to court your daughter, Tishujen?" All in one breath too!

Father Dur unfolds all seven feet of rock-solid muscle from the chair, slowly. Riggs didn't flinch, in fact, he sort of looked relieved after his little spiel. Father Dur gives Riggs a one over, and tells in that quiet drawl of his that is so much like a suppressed roar: "Young man, by rights I should have tossed you out of the window."

Before I could tell him there is a line forming to do just that, he overrides me: "To save your life. But firstly, you must have done something right, since my daughter isn't shooting, and secondly, it's a long drop down." He turns to Mother, smiles and sighs: "Ah, dear, how I miss our old house."

Then, back to Riggs: "Wouldn't mind buying your esteemed father a drink were he here, but as far as courting goes, no offense, but you are too much of a pup to discuss it with _me." _Then he beckons Riggs closer and adds pianissimo: "Do try taking it up with someone of your own age." He nods at me. I open my mouth _again, _but Father Dur is already speaking to Mother again: "Care for a stroll, dear?" Mother sweeps up with a sweet "yes", and then tosses over her shoulder as they leave, hand in hand, "If there is any shooting to be done, _please_, do take it outside. There are some mementoes in this room I am fond of, not to mention some important files."

When the door slid closed after them, Riggs looked at me, questioning-like. I… I've just told him to shut the blazes up and kiss me. Consider me… courted?

Here I am, finally, in my favorite port in the Galaxy. Riggs and I have just walked across the taxi pad and stood there by the railing, watching the glorious lights of Nar Shaddaa, Corso's arm slung over my shoulder, and me hugging his waist, for the whole world to see… not that Nar Shaddaa can be bothered with looking on something like this.

Be well,

Tishujen

P.S: Human hair, it's actually not that bad when you're kissing one. You can thread your fingers through it, quite a nice feeling. Who would have thought?

Author's Note: Apologies for going off-canon, I could not resist.


	13. Chapter 13

Defender Class Starship

Salute, Tishujen

I am compelled to remark that Bayar-Dur is an honorable man, who never demands of others more than he does of himself. Please, do not take it as admonition, only as my sincere wish for the two of you to make peace. And, perhaps, a touch of sisterly pride.

Your last letter lifted my spirits considerably, for it is with a heavy heart that I leave Taris. Even though the Governor was highly complementary of our efforts, I cannot help but feel that I've left behind a being ripped asunder after cleansing and binding his little toe. In particular, recovering records of the Promised Land survivors made me feel that way. These people are long gone, yet their voices, despairing as the years decimate their ranks echo through me. If Lord Revan at his most potent was unable to foresee the tragedy, how can someone far humbler do so?

The answer is doing one's duty, and calmly. The Order is the only shield against the futility. My efforts shall not be in vain and not a grain of sand swallowed by the coming storm. Even when a task appointed to me is hard. Master Fain, my next patient sounds like a man of exceptional quality. The plague had driven him rogue, but Tishujen, even in the evil delirium Master Fain chose to direct the aggression against the spice traders of Nar Shaddaa rather than his own people or imaginary foes like Master Yuon and Master Tykan. I cannot help but admire the man. Of course his mad move will do damage to the Republic cause by alienating the Hutts. A Jedi cannot afford to act on his own behalf, it always reflects on the Order, on the Republic.

And in keeping with this, I am about to follow Hiboco from the Imperial Fleet Station to your beloved Nar Shaddaa. I look forward to seeing the skyline you hold in such esteem, though I wonder if it was the architecture or the company that you found particularly thrilling. Perhaps, I will see you as well, if you haven't yet concluded your business.

May the Force protect Corso Riggs and you,

Quinly

P.S: Do you remember the endless academic arguments Uncle used to have with the rest of the Galaxy about Nar Shaddaa? Looking at his latest version, he _still_ seems to believe this is where the Lost Jedi began with Atton Rand's accepting the Force. Despite the evidence supporting the Tatooine origin and Master Mical as the First Disciple!


	14. Chapter 14

Tatooine, Anchorhead

By the Force, Quinly, you sure take interest in the weirdest stuff! All I remember of Revan's trivia on Taris is that he had the sweetest swoop back then! The only way I know is because I helped a geezer to scavenge the parts from the track and he regaled me with the story. Well, Revan's or no, I hope the old-timer sends me his new prototype engine to put on my speeder. Gods, I love riding this thing, particular double with Riggs! Yum!

Miss it now hard, because I'm trying to see if Bowdaar can take the heat. Literally. Tatooine is boiling, and he has at least four coats of fur, one for each season.

But wait! I haven't told you about Bowdaar. Anyway, while you on that big tragic and dramatic saving Master Fain loop, I was trying to break a last surviving she-shurjank…shirjink… erm… stinky beast with tusks. For all I care, they deserve to be extinct, but the Hutt who promised Risha the very special engine we apparently need to get down to Nok's horde, wanted the beast in exchange. In addition to the other one Risha was packing along. Honestly, to hell with the treasure, I just wanted the smelly thing _off my ship_! Mine was a boy, apparently, and the Hutt had the girl. The stupid Feastmaster let the no less stupid eco-terrorists snatch the lady… yep, fun. I fought to keep my face straight thought the whole affair.

But back to Bowdaar! He's a Wookie, and was another one of the Hutt's pets. That tub of lard didn't treat him right at all, tried to get him to fight poisoned, and bled. In my presence! Sure thing I couldn't just stand and watch. So, Riggs and I shot a few to even the odds a touch. And we ended up with a Wookie on the ship instead of the stinky beast with tusks. Riggs didn't care for it one bit, but Bowdaar's a nice Wookie (I hear most of them are brutes). Honestly, Riggs should appreciate it, seeing how he's practically hairless compared. Not that I had any chance to explore for myself… yet.

We made a beeline for Tatooine to have a chat with Nok's old rival, but on the way, we've got a distress call. In space, only the meanest rat or a Mandalorian doesn't land a hand, so I plotted the course for the Celestial Crow. Alright, I lied through my teeth to Risha, but I won't lie to you. It was a TRAP! But no worries, because it was also the _stupidest_ trap in the world. I thought fixing Skavak with a wretched virus would spook the ladies, but no… a floosy named Feylara tried to kill me while he'd watch that on the holocall. An idiot girl shielded herself well, but spent all the time chatting with Skavak instead of killing me while she could. Skavak, the worm, didn't waste time pointing out that her shield is only as good as her battery and hang up on her. I sent her back to the Stupid IV or whatever moon she's come from. Still _sobbing_ over Skavak. Honestly, I am starting to get curious what powers the Force endowed him with between the sheets to hook them up like that. Real curious.

Write soon, and please tell me that you've run out of the need to kill yourself saving the Masters! And, uhm, Quinly? When I talk to Riggs, do I giggle? Simper? Make an insipid little wave with my hips?!

Be well,

Tishujen

P.S: As for Bayar-Dur and Morat-Dur, sister, they have a dozen horns apiece, in all shapes and sizes, and still shave bold. But hey, I am forever grateful for learning a trick or too because of them, 'cause you can't win over this sort fair and square, you got to put in a kick or two below the belt.


	15. Chapter 15

Carrick Station, Republic Fleet

Salute, Tishujen

What if you giggle a little? There is no shame in that. If you wish to pick over your thoughts on men, I hope that instead of quibbling about a harmless mannerism, you would remember the past, and do not let your curiosity about Skavak lead you astray. I allow that he is an expert in a bedchamber, yet it is not a substitute for a heart for a woman of quality.

To answer your other question, I have met Master Duras Fain on Nar Shaddaa, I have shielded him, and there was no redress for me. There is no death, Tishujen, there is only the Force.

Master Fain proved to be as peculiar as I was told. It seems that he shunned the rules way before the plague assaulted his mind. When I came before Master Duras, he was as hostile as Yuon and Tykan, yet he aimed to wound me personally, rather than raging against the world at large. He spoke of being Master Youn's lover and that another Jedi had to pay the price. To think of that, Master Yuon mentioned the same name as well. Parkanas…. I shudder to think that this plague might be connected to a Jedi failure to control his or her affections. Knowing Yuon, I hazard _his_, rather than _her_. Master Fain was kinder when Lord Vivicar left his mind in peace, and yet I remained on my guard in his presence. I dare not question the Council decisions, but, Tishujen, the man is hardly a paragon to inspire the padawans!

Master Fain has a daughter as well, but I cannot say if this was irregular or predated his joining the Order. Be that as it may, Laranna Fain is possibly the next victim of the plague, and I am on my way to rescue her, and the Republic ship she is holding hostage in her delirium.

Despite the challenges that lay ahead, I am glad to leave the corrupt world of Nar Shaddaa behind. Yet, I am bringing some of it with me. Tharan Cedrix, a scientist that helped me break through the security of the Fain's vigilantes elected to join my crew. He is a smooth and pleasant man, of admirable intellect, yet he belongs on Nar Shaddaa, being fond of its dubious charms.

The most peculiar thing about Tharan is a hologram in his possession. It is, or, rather,_ she_ is, akin to the simulations of the Masters I have consulted earlier in her self-awareness. Her name is Holiday, and I cannot help but believe that she was no less real than Master Bastilla Shan once. She is a talented slicer and a researcher. Unfortunately, Holiday also seems to be programed to heap adoration on her owner, and her fawning over "_her Tharan_" is sickening. I suppose I _can_ appreciate your concern over simpering after all! However, you are not in the same league as Holiday.

Still, I am looking forward to travelling with Tharan, as a relief from trying to understand Qyzen Fess' ways. Sadly, I must focus on shielding, and cannot spare energy for my strange companion. Tharan does not hold the Force in high regard, so I foresee whiling travelling hours away in a lively philosophical dispute. Ah, the nights of the trials come to mind, when we, the padawans, argued till the dawn hours by the fire!

May the Force protect Corso Riggs and you,

Quinly


	16. Chapter 16

Tatooine, Outpost Salara

Greetings and Salutations, Quinly!

I certainly am glad, I know you, because you are one woman I take at face value for saying she looks forward to discussing philosophy with a man. Maybe that what lands me in trouble? Not enough philosophical discussions with Riggs? No need to flag down my past, I am perfectly capable to mess up the present with no skeletons from the closets' help.

Here's the scoop. Bowdaar's been the right fit for the place, fur and all, as the locals take muscle seriously, and let's face it, Riggs makes up in that _odd_ Manetallan charm, but lacks in the bicep-height department. Customary, finding the geezer with the parts for Miss Risha turned very ugly very fast. Because we run into a Sith. Well, we've run into a Jedi first, but she was alright, not that different from you, really.

The Sith was very different. She wanted some red box from the same geezer that holds my prize. Won't say what was in the box, but quickly offered herself to us as a reward should I get the box… not sure what's up with that? Taint, desperation, or a life-long fantasy to do the nasty with a Twi'lek and a Wookiee? I fancy money over that kind of reward, so I went with the usual back-up plan. Let's call it a draw (you've got to show me that Force trick! I will not be caught unawares by no Sith!) .

Once the fight was all over, Bowdaar and I went to search for the geezer's hideout and ran into those charming Tatooine womp rats, the sort that are waist-height, have a thousand sharp teeth and about four times as many claws. Shot them before by the dozen, thought them a minor inconvenience, only this time, one gets hold of my calf and mangles it through the breeches, and the next thing I remember… not so much.

I woke up in that roundish huts they build on Tatooine, mercifully cool. Sore and weak, and Riggs's sitting at the table swirling Corellian in a glass. I must have croaked. He didn't look up, just said: "Womp rat fever. Two days." I've managed: "Where's Bowdaar?" Riggs downed the spirits in one gulp and answered quiet-like: "Bowdaar's figured we're roughly the same shape and size, so I'd have a better idea of your anatomy. Bringing you back from the blighted canyon is all him. Running around looking for the stim vendors, and waiting for you to live or die here is all me." I about told him there were ways for him to get closely familiar with my anatomy, but suddenly didn't want to. Instead I said: "Thanks, Riggs." Must have gotten that one wrong too, because he threw the glass at the wall, and stormed out.

My friendly Wookiee showed up as I was picking up the shards. He walked in sideways, so I took it that Riggs' just spoken to him. "Let's go trash Twin Sun thugs at the Mines and make the Mayor of this bantha poo-hole happy," I told him, and he roared what I loosely translated as: "I'm excited about serving them honorable death." A man after my heart! Or at least the one I get. Flashed with this success, I've asked him, casual-like what's up with Riggs, and he shrugged: "Mating season." I think. Do they have Wookiee dictionaries?

Well, I am off to wreck honorable death and mayhem. Keep your horns clean,

Tishujen

P.S: Say, Quinly, you're the wise one, do you happen to know what courting means in Mantellian custom? Does it stop at kissing, or goes beyond, and did I break things?


	17. On a Good Day (Short)

On a Good Day

"Oi, Riggs, move off, move off, moo—"

"Uhm… it's not like I'm not trying, Captain… I must have broken… feels like a decent number of ribs. Or maybe it's my neck… Ouch."

"Oh, you poor dear, JUST ROLL OFF ALREADY! Oi! How could someone that skinny be that heavy?!"

"I'm sinewy." Corso Riggs heaved himself upright, clutching a tree trunk weathered to that nearly white, smooth, pleasant state. It must have been lodged in the rocks by the flood waters who knows how many years ago. Down below the source of the playful waters, the mighty Alderaanian river, raged, and he did not have the heart to take a look behind his shoulder. He stared at the stone wall instead for a good long while. There was still a fair drop to get to the water. Finally, he turned his attention from the study of the rock crevices to Tishujen. "Alright there, Captain?" The Twi'lek stretched on the bed of straw, contemplating his back, apparently.

Now she sat up slowly. "Been better," the Twi'lek replied grouchily and pulled an old coin out of her belt pouch. Boy, was she a sight for sore eyes!

"That color, Captain-" without letting go off the branch, he leaned in and touched her new coat (well, new to her; the former owner was buried under the hot Tatooine sands). "Burgundy…" she supplied, tossed the coin up and shot at it with her (formerly his) Flashy. "Aye, burgundy," he nodded, "it looks awful good on you." She stared boldly at the bright emptiness around them, this way and that. "You're only sayin' that 'cause you love me, Riggs."

"No argument there," he pulled his girl up to her feet. She cursed mildly, testing her footing. It did not help that the soft straw gave way under foot. "The egg, Riggs?" He shook his head negatively. "Won't be hatching, this one, by the smell of it." To prove his point he lightly taped the thick shell, releasing a fresh whiff. Tishujen pinched her nose. "Oh, curse it! That's the wrong nest!"

"Whose bright idea was it, Riggs?!"

Riggs shrugged: "Bowdaar might have mentioned there're these rare eggs on Alderaan people pay good money for. And when you've spotted the nest, Captain, you've just—"

"And where's Bowdaar now?!" Tishujen hurriedly interrupted his recollections.

"Sleeping on the ship, Captain!" Riggs supplied gladly. He hoped she didn't detect a touch of envy.

"He is sleeping on the ship, and we're here… what's the word for it? Nesting?!"

"That's right, Captain!" As if obeying an unheard command, they both looked up at the broken bridge they've jumped from. Well, she'd jumped, he's more like resignedly stepped off. With his eyes firmly shut. The wall was sheer and inconceivably tall above them.

"Stop, stop, stoo—" Riggs whispered, as Tishujen walked to the side of the nest upon the inspection. She ignored his warning, sat down and dangled her feet in the air.

"No jumping down from here. That's a fact," she sighed after a short contemplation.

"Oh, good," Riggs exhaled. "Now come back, Jenny. Please? Slowly?"

She ignored his breathless plea, and started digging for something in her bottomless belt pouch. "Take comfort, Riggs, far as the nests go, this one is on a sturdy side."

"You mean that's not the first time for you've… nested?" Riggs tried to keep his eyes on the back of her head, instead of the blue emptiness. He desperately wanted to throw up. Maybe he'd hit his head harder… or before he'd left Ord Mantell….

"Nah, that's my very first time… but when you're a kid making a mean back alley livin', a day counts as lucky when you find a nest of tasty eggs… Aha!" She fished out a small commlink from some mystery inner pocket and grinned at him over one shoulder. "Gree technology! Calling a shuttle now."

Riggs sighed: "Wait! We'll be a laughing stock across the whole Republic. Heck, even the Empire might hear of us! In all the very wrong ways. I don't feel like being famous for being stuck in a nest!"

Tishujen set the commlink down. "You want to stay here, Riggs?" she asked incredulously.

He pondered the option for a moment, then shrugged: "Won't be that bad. You said yourself, it's sturdy. No war, no rival Houses, no errands… I have you all to myself in a tiny space…"

"Ah, if only we could learn to fly! You'd bring me the juiciest worms…" Tishujen re-joined.

Riggs sighed: "I recon by the size of the egg, these birdies don't bother with any worms smaller than a Manuka cub. Ah, well, the dream was good while it lasted. Don't mind me, Captain."

Tishujen nodded and punched the coordinates in.

"Riggs, you will have to walk to the edge when the shuttle comes," she added quietly after a moment's pause. He tightened his grip on the branch. "Of course. I will. No problems." Tishujen nodded: "Gladdens my heart. 'Cause I wouldn't mind holding a strong, big man's hand as I have to take that one step…"

"Tell anyone, and you're scrap," she said curtly to C2-N2 when the droid brought the shuttle over. Riggs dropped into the seat next to her, and relaxed his grip on her palm.

"And that's us on a good day, Captain," he muttered throwing a parting glance at the empty nest. Well, empty apart from the stinking egg.

"What can I say?" Tishujen stretched, and put her arms behind her head to better watch the milky clouds rush above her, "Not a dull moment, travelling with me, eh, Riggs?"

/Author's Note: Honestly, all sorts of insane things happen to Tishujen in the game. I do RP her as rather reckless, but some situations are plain hilarious. Like being stuck in a nest here. Without the 'special' egg.


	18. Chapter 18

Tatooine, Anchorhead

Salute, Tishujen

Firstly, I implore you to advise Corse Riggs that a holocall would not have been inappropriate. My duties may keep me, yet I will make my uttermost to assist in the matters of healing. At the very least, Tharan may be able to journey to your aid.

I will try to address your other questions as we as I can. The Jedi Hunters and the Morgukai I have recently encountered on Nar Shaddaa, developed techniques to successfully resist the Force. I will look into the subject to guide you should meet again. It appears you might need it in the current turbulent times. I am unfamiliar with the courting customs of Ord Mantell, however, having spoken to Corso Riggs, I gather that he had lost his family to the Imperial Forces, barely a man grown, and had to stand by. I feel that he might be reliving this traumatic experience as you deny him your company when venturing into dangerous lands. If that is indeed the case, reassuring your suitor that you seek survival rather than death, and rely on him as a shield might ease the tension.

I have located Master Eriz Vossan among the Sand People of Tatooine. Through this search I came to understand an error in judgment that we, the space-faring people make in our uncompromising approach to the Sand People. I have viewed the cave paintings that elevated the warrior status of these relentless tribes, and I think I can now understand their single-minded hatred of the outsiders. In their eyes they are triumphant warriors defending their sand. It is only bare sand and rock, but it is theirs. Master Eriz' tortured mind saw them as a mighty boon to the Republic's Army. Upon consideration, I forwarded his research to the Jedi Counsel. The proposal might be controversial, but I trust in the wisdom of the Masters. I also hope it might aid in the species bid for survival in whatever form, for the warfare I have witnessed on Tatooine logically would leave to their eventual extermination.

I believe Tharan might share your skepticism about philosophical discussions being the only possible engagement for him and I. I have noticed that he often dispatches Holiday on a task so we may speak in private. He appears to be one of a few who dismiss the lightsaber looking at a Jedi. If it is so, he is making himself a disservice by barring me from interacting with Holiday. I am willing to consider taking him as a lover however I cannot do so before I am assured that no sentient is being hurt by my choices.

May the Force protect Corso Riggs and you,

Quinly

P.S: I have just recalled that Uncle refers to Master Atton Rand as a Jedi Hunter. However, I am certain that Force Sensitivity is not necessary to master the defensive art.


	19. Chapter 19

Alderaan, Organa's Palace

Greetings and Salutations, Quinly!

Talking, bah! Words are your weapon; I only muddy things up when I run my big mouth. Regardless, Riggs and I patched it up, or as close to it as makes no difference. The early spring on Alderaan cures any man's pigheadedness. Gentle sun, pretty purple flowers along the melt-water swollen brooks, the smell of the whole winter's worth of thawing manuka cats' droppings in the air... I've tracked a very generous helping of it all over Organa's Palace with my soggy boots.

The place needs it, if you ask me, too posh for the circumstances. War's here, surprise, surprise! Seems like the gilded snobs didn't have enough epic bloodletting, so they started a fight of their very own. The lot of them can't decide if they want to be in bed with the Republic or not. I wouldn't mind either way, only the actions put that Other Thing Risha Needs out of my immediate reach. Old Nok's treasure's better be worth crossing the battle lines! I could be making a steady profit on the weapon runs, you know, not slaughtering Wolf Baron's minions… Barons, dukes, counts… bite my lek! Stupid boys, the whole lot of them!

And I, Tishujen Dur, fathered by a deserter on a dancer, mingle with this rock's creme de la creme. One of the lineage-rich scions went as far as offering me to play with his family jewels as a payment for delivering his cashable kind of heirlooms. What's with everyone lately? First that Sith, now the lordling! Do I look unsatisfied? Plain? Stupid? I yanked his chain some, to see how low he'd go, seeing he's the type that used to pay the girls of my 'background' to turn tricks before the war. Turnaround is a fair play! Only Riggs got all hot and bothered by his thinly veiled whoring. (Hear me sighing, sister?) Guess, I'll have to do the whole talking thing after all, if Riggs' eyesight's so short he can't see I'm into stout brews, not vinegars with pretensions at wine.

Anyway, I am off to foothills of the Whatever Mountains, doing one little thing I am good at: shooting people dead. On the upside, I'm in perfect health, and can take more than a few burns. But they keep telling me about some sort of giant bugs swarming to the East from here. They say that they bugs, somehow crawl into one's mind, so a poor loser joins the hive. Gotta keep sharp, Quinly, on the account of my rotten luck with the critters lately. It's not the flying I mind, it's the buzzing….

Keep your horns clean,

Tishujen

P.S The Uncle finally hit the pay dirt, I see. That Rand fellow, he's my speed. Too bad he's three hundred years too dead.


	20. Chapter 20

Alderaan, Thul Prison Camp

Salute, Tishujen!

Meditation did not alleviate my frustration and worry – my connection to the Force must have grown weaker than I have realized. I stooped as low as to feel injured when Master Sidonia referred to me as a padawan. My mistake was correcting hers. Were I able to keep my pride under control, I might have looked less of a threat and would have succeeded already. Master Sidonia waved me away and barred every attempt at communication. The way she speaks, there is no doubt that Vivicar's Plague is affecting her. She is presiding over a secret Peace Summit – and with Lord Vivicar's influence this could only mean suffering.

Instead, I am trapped.

The Wolf Baron has captured over three hundred of Organa's subjects and demanded Hiboco and myself surrender in exchange for their safe release. Hiboco has accepted the terms, moved by the immediate need to save the unfortunate. Hiboco's choice certainly compromised this world, and, I fear, we shall be lucky if it is just Alderaan. For Hiboco himself was on a mission of urgent importance, involving a terrifying weapon.

Peculiarly, in my weakened state, the anguish over this failure pales in comparison to a rather personal one. The other night Tharan has dismissed Holiday to attempt to resolve a puzzle over mysterious vial he's received. He took my hands into his, and spoke of me being his inspiration (a scientist's equivalent of a poet's muse, I presume). Unfortunately, Tharan was adamant that we shall proceed without Holiday's knowledge. This, of course, was unacceptable to me, no matter how appealing the prospect of lovemaking was that night.

I avoided dishonor, yet it does not make it less awkward to share a cell with two men who seem to be unable to look further ahead than an immediate emotion. Both Kira and Holiday are wary of me, as if I am incomprehensible.

May the Force protect Corso Riggs and you,

Quinly

P.S: Our cause is saved: the former captives without any military support managed to storm Thul's guarded compound and release us. I hope it does not prove to Hiboco that he can rely on miracles!


	21. In the Harsh Light (Short)

In the Harsh Light

There were two colors on Tatooine: blue and light. Both were blindingly bright. Not as bright as a girl dancing on the sand.

"Tharan, why can we still see her?" asked Quinly, inclining her head in the direction of the sinuous dancer, "should not she dissipate? A ray of light in the light?" Tharan tried to shrug his shoulder as dismissively as he could without disrupting the transmission. "My dear, Holiday is a _highly_ sophisticated piece of technology, and I have made significant upgrades to boost the performance."

Quinly lifted a nearby rock in the air with the Force and hit the goggled and shrouded figure of a Sand Man. He crumpled to the ground and died, never breaking out of its trance. "His life was harsh, his passing was gentle," Quinly said in a way of a eulogy. "Quite so," Tharan clicked the button and Holiday disappeared, but not before she gave a tiny finger wave to Tharan. Quinly wondered if it were her imagination, or if the hologram was only fooling them, allowing Tharan to think he was in control. Whoever did have the upper hand, the odd couple made the battles feel like a leisurely pastime courtesy of Holiday's dancing. There was no sentient, biological or mechanical, that did not fall into a stupor at the sight of her.

"Shall we return to the ship, Jedi? Holiday says she is nearly done creating the substance we need for our final reveal. I am sure once we submerge the note in the formula, the text will appear." Despite the anticipation clear in his voice, Tharan did not look well. Tatooine was an unfortunate choice of destination for a bearded man. Quinly took pity and nodded affirmatively: "I need time to meditate on the Sand People's cave paintings. I believe I am close to discovering Master Eriz Vossan's whereabouts."

Instead of looking pleased or grateful, Tharan cringed: "Does saying 'meditation' when you clearly mean 'thinking about', make you feel more mysterious, Jedi?"

Quinly lifted sun-bleached brows (the light of Tatooine gave her hair a glorious color, some rare metal, and she knew it): "I imagine about as much as saying 'pondering' when you clearly mean 'meditate' makes you feel like a being of superior intellect."

Tharan's eyes lit up as he raised the stakes: "Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, Jedi."

She allowed herself a tiny smile: "Ah, but flattery is the easiest way to disarm you, Tharan."

Tharan pressed a palm against his heart (his hands were artistic, and he knew it): "I am wounded. I thought we were allies, not enemies, Jedi."

Well, he brought the heart into this. This time her smile was quite slow: "What we are, is a man and a woman, Tharan, and therefore –"

He did not miss a bit: "Contestants." Tatooine had an abundance of light, but it was quite shortchanged on sound. They stood in complete and utter silence for a moment. Quinly's feet started sinking into the hot sand.

"Do we return to the ship now, or wait here till the twin suns reach zenith?" she asked alerted by the discomfort. Tharan shuddered: "Perish the thought! I prefer myself as a solid." As his hands wrapped around her waist on the speeder, he added, sotto voice: "and you, you - as well."

Upon arrival to the _Defender_ Quinly followed Tharan to his quarters, her curiosity picked.

Holiday lay prostrate on the couch. Her shoulders shook as she wept. Tharan stood by the door abashed, but Quinly crossed to the couch and touched the hologram lightly. Nothing happened. She was not corporeal after all. Just light, she could not be held… around the waist or otherwise.

"Holiday?" Quinly asked tentatively, "Is something wrong?"

Between many sobs, Tharan and Quinly managed to get enough words out of Holiday to figure out that the mysterious letter dissolved in the liquid that Holiday had painstakingly created from Tharan's formula.

"Shush," Quinly said, "It did not explode the ship, and you have a souvenir." She picked the vial that used to contain the mysterious letter and stopped. She could not very well put it into Holiday's hand. Just light… an inconsolable shred of light.

Tharan was looking at the vial in her hand with intense interest. "Of course!" he exclaimed. "The vial!" Somehow Holiday heard him over her crying. She stopped immediately, and grew luminous: "Tharan, you are brilliant! I am on it!" The hologram disappeared in a flash of light, and so did the vial. "How?" Quinly wondered studying her hand.

"This time I am right," Tharan said smugly. "You are such an inspiration, my dear." He stepped closer. "An inspiration for many things…" Another step. Quinly looked into his eyes, and noted just how green they were. For what may have been the hundredth time in that many hours. "Allow me to demonstrate…" he cupped her cheek with his palm.

"And Holiday?" Quinly asked leaning away from an intended kiss.

"Holiday? She need never know," Tharan replied airily.

Quinly took a firm hold of his hand. "_I_ want you. _She_ loves you. I will not have you without her knowledge and approval."

"You are growing tedious, Jedi," Tharan muttered.

"And you continue to be self-delusional, Scientist," Quinly replied evenly. "You are at least as much hers, as she is yours."

Tharan sighed: "Then this is not to be, my darling coward."

Quinly helped his hand away from her face: "It takes one to know one."

"I am going to use "tedious", again," Tharan smiled indulgently.

"You've thought that was tedious? Just you wait," Quinly laughed. She straightened and assumed her very best Master voice: "You might dismiss the mystique of the Force, but I shall not discount the mystery of Science in turn. There are points where they intersect, and Holiday is one such point. She is a being of Light. And I am only a Jedi. "

Tharan nodded, amused: "First and foremost, no matter the thousand other things you are. Peculiar."

"Aren't we all?" Quinly asked him over her shoulder making her way through the doors. She walked to the bridge and stopped by the view screen. She could now barely distinguish shapes of the buildings and cliffs, the light was so harsh. The twin suns had finally reached zenith.

/Author's note: I moved it from Alderaan to Tatooine because it gave more options to play with words, but since the characters are the same, I am adding it here.


	22. Chapter 22

Alderaan, Outpost Wadrun

Greetings and salutations, Quinly!

I've shot the King. He richly deserved it. Now that I've had time to think of it, I'm guessing it might help you some to have the Imp's stooge out of the way. Back in the throne room I've just figured a moron that set heavy ammo cases right by the shield generators that protected him ain't fit to rule over a Kilicks's mound, let alone the rest of this hopelessly messed up rock.

I've shot mountains of Kilicks too, and didn't turn into one, and that's a plus. On the downside, I felt near as stupid as a Joiner when I was lagging vases from Leen's Mansion to him (Leen's the noble without a fortune who owed me the shielding tech). Yes, vases. He's been as good as his word, and treated me nice for the delivery. Supper only, nothing sweeter after the dessert. He mostly watched in awe my cleaning the plates. He said no woman he knew ever took more than a dainty bite. I bet no woman he knew spent her days lagging vases around the Kilicks' mounds. That keeps a woman's waist-line effortlessly trim.

Now Riggs' sour, Leen's sour (the womp rat refused to hop the ship), and even my own self is sour, because I day-dreamed all through the affair. You know, that I 'm sitting opposite to Riggs in the fancy room over the flowery plates, or even Skavak. Only if it were Skavak, someone should have hidden the knives, and the forks too. Spoons as well, for there're good chances we figure a way to go for each-other's throat with a spoon.

Skavak's scum of the galaxy, but take this in, Quinly! Risha sends me to deliver a pickled Sith head of a patriotic value in exchange for a drive, but the curator makes a face. Captain Skavak has already delivered one, and his assistant authenticated it and all. Wanna bet the assistant was another stupid girl (when did the world become so full of them?) Despite Skavak's thwarting me, I've laughed. What can I say? The man is a magnificent bastard!

I've got the last laugh in too. Took the parts right off his ship! Had to blast into a secure Imp's spaceport, but I've got it. Nok's treasure is now mine, pure and simple. Not my place to tell others' secrets, but it's a sure thing. Just have to fly my bird on a tour of the galaxy's backside, and I'm rich!

Will be stopping by Leen's on the way. The fool got into a duel of some sort (a duel!) and I have to fight it for him. It was one dinner, Quinly, one simple dinner! Oh, well, I pay my debts. At least shooting won't make me look stupid, like lagging the blasted vases did.

Keep your horns clean, and give that science fellow every opportunity to regret his own stupidity,

Tishujen


	23. Chapter 23

Tython, Jedi Temple

Salute, Tishujen

I believe you will be relieved to know that I will walk this world for a while longer. I have spent much time on Tython lately, coming and going about my duties, but still I linger. Tharan amuses himself by confusing zealous padawans, and Qyzen is visiting with Master Yuon (the strangest pair). As for me, I need to meditate after what has passed.

Master Yuon and I joined forces in locating Lord Vivicar. The price was high, but it was done. I had to fight my Master again, as Vivicar found a way to prey on her as we zeroed in on him through a meditation. Tharan and I flew to the Distant Outer Rim and boarded Lord Vivicar's ship. It was strange to travel without Hiboco's reassuring presence, but the valiant Knight was trying to complete the task that took his own Master beyond the Force's veil. We shall be reconnoitering soon.

I will spare you the minutiae of our taking over Lord Vivicar's dreadnaught, but I must share something that still haunts me.

There was a moment in the final confrontation when Vivicar gathered the Force, and it became apparent that the blow aimed for me would be terrible. Tharan stepped forward from my side, to block it. I am so used to seeing Hiboco's wide back in front of me; it was disquieting to look at Tharan's slightly hunched narrow shoulders instead. Hiboco would have shrugged off the surge, but Tharan crumpled. I heard Holiday wail (by the Light, my ears are still ringing at the memory), but my focus was Vivicar. I had no way of knowing if Tharan had fallen too far to the Force's depths to be beyond return. I had to fight on. I had to destroy the ancient Sith Lord, formerly known as Terrak Morrhage for he desired to destroy the Order. Then I had shielded hapless Parkanas, who gave himself to Morrhage to make Lord Vivicar. I did both _before_ I went to Tharan. His life was a lesser need.

I would have done the same if Tharan were my lover. It would have been harder to block the emotions: the desire to kill Parkanas, to see to my fallen ally (I am not sure which feeling was stronger). Or perhaps not. Maybe there is a higher form of connection, a higher form of love for a comrade in arms than a simple carnal passion.

With Vivicar's final defeat, the shield I held between him and all the Masters, _and_ Parkanas, was no longer necessary. I let go of it. The Force flooded me, and with it, vitality. And power, power beyond anything I have felt before. All of it, that entire pent-up surge, I have focused on Tharan, unthinking, blinded by my sudden elevation. I have followed my personal whim because I _could_. I have crossed the line that no Jedi should cross. I did not question what trespass would be easier to live with afterwards, as I should have.

Tharan stirred.

I sat down by him, and when I could speak, I have said: "I had to use the Force. It is easier than a syringe for me." Tharan coughed: "In the old tales a kiss by a beautiful maiden is the best medicine for the fallen heroes. Did you consider adding a traditional alternative to your arsenal, Jedi?" I had no time to respond, because Holiday provided an abundant supply of the healing he requested.

We flew back to Tython.

May the Force protect Corso Riggs and you,

Quinly Dur, the Barsen'thor of the Order

P.S: I apologize for the above display of vanity.


	24. Chapter 24

Carrick Station

Greeting and Salutations, Quinly!

It ain't easy, the man who has your back, bleeding copiously, moving none, while you have to go about the business of not joining him. If you can undo a thing like that, there is no sentient with a beating heart who'd do differently. Take comfort, sister.

Wish it were me, a healer. But my talents run the other way: I've shot the knave. Blazes.

Riggs and I, we've salvaged Nok's reliquary (a big word for a small chest). Made a bee-line for the bird, and he was, sitting on the ramp, boots propped on Bowdaar. Skavak, in full glory. "You! In the Galaxy's darkest corner?" I exclaimed, trying to see if there were breath in my personal Wookie. "It figures. "

Skavak dug his boots into Bowdaar's body; his chest heaved – he'd live. Good. I turn my attention back to Skavak, who was saying: "You are flying my ship, you jumped-up blue-skin excuse for a woman. Get used to surprises." Could have been more, but Bowdaar's sorry state concerned me.

"Ain't a surprise, ye runt of the womp's rat litter," I've folded my arms across my chest. Far away from the blasters, but it made no difference, and looked braver. Skavak would shoot first; he had a blaster in his lap. Riggs' famed Torchy judging by his sharp intake of air.

"What, you were expecting me? Touched, I am sure," Skavak said.

"Always. Spent sleepless nights sweaty with expectation," what did the humans do? Ah, yes. No eyelashes for me, the eyelids had to do.

"Is that so?" Skavak's lips twitched to form a lopsided grin. He didn't believe my single word. Not that I intended him to. He'd had more than his fair share of _that_. Challenge from a woman though? Not so much, Risha said so, not that I couldn't see it plain as day.

"Aye, could not get a wink in till I get to tell you in person about my feelings," I'm proud of the sob I've put in here. Or at the least shoulder twitch with a decent sound effect.

"No woman chased me with such persistence, and you've had stiff competition," Skavak drawled. The dare was on.

"I'd say," I've flipped a lek over my shoulder and run the fingers along it. "Speaking of stiff… I've beat them all to the chase, didn't I? Or did you stash a spare on board?"

"No, you're the only one for me… here,"Skavak enjoyed every minute of it. So did I.

"Come and get me then, stud," I've run my arms over my body. "Best things in life are free…"

The blaster aimed at my head, Skavak walked unhurriedly towards me. Closer. The business end to the temple (cold bastard). Lips to lips (still cold).

"You're mad, both of you," Corso rasped. "_Idiot!" _I've thought, then_ "Thanks." Novelty or no, _Skavak was more taken by humiliating men than women, apparently. That brief flash of pleasure opened a crack in his cool concentration that the kissing could not. Also sent a shiver down my spine, got me sharper.

I've ducked down and threw my weight against his knees. The blaster went off, a painful burn. Riggs hesitated for a fraction of a moment that let Skavak roll back to his feet. _Oh, Riggs!_ The darkest corner of space heard the blaster fire again, mere minutes apart after eons of silence (we've shot quite a storm to get past the droids to old Nok's treasure chest). Not for long, though. Killing or getting killed takes very little time.

Riggs fell against the ship: "Jenny, how about a code word for 'I'm only pretending you're nothing to me'?"

Not nothing, so truth it was. "Thing is, Riggs, I've wanted to kiss him. And kill him. Did both, didn't I?"

Riggs rubbed his forehead. "Don't know which one of the three is worse, Captain. "

That startled me. "Three?"

Riggs ticked it off on his fingers: "Kissing him. Killing him. Telling me about it."

There probably was the right thing to say to that, the kind of thing you'd say. But all I could remember of your kind of thing was that little hand wave you do with the "May the Force…" and it wasn't it at all. "What's with Jenny, Riggs? The name's Tishujen." And I kneeled by Skavak. Skavak's body. Leased to half the women I ran across lately.

"And mine is Corso. Ever thought of calling me that?" Riggs asked softly.

"I did, Riggs, I swear. Thing is, there is that difficulty with picking names that runs in your family. Or so I've figured." I've got up and handed him Skavak's blaster. "Yours?"

"Torchy!" Riggs exclaimed cradling the gun.

"Case in point," I muttered, stepped over still unconscious Bowdaar, and went to my quarters. It's my turn to drink alone. To Skavak's memory. With our line of work, one runs a serious risk of being shot in the deepest, darkest corner of the Galaxy, and never being toasted. I'd drink to Skavak, mayhap someone will drink to me when the time comes.

Be well, Quinly, be well!

T.

/I am having troubles keeping up with the game. The ending of Chapter 1 is a busy time, and all I want to do now is to play Consular because Zenith is everything I have ever wanted in a CRPG digital character (which makes it difficult to split Quinly Dur's the Jedi Master from the Player Domi's reaction (which runs to 'I want to MOD it SO BAD! Bio needs to grow a vagina!)) I was also trying to get my Sith off Balmorra double time because having 3 characters on Balmorra is seriously too much Balmorra. Plus Pub Balmorra makes Imp Balmorra emotionally far too hard, and reduces the ability to enjoy the Sith story (and Mal comes across as a sniveling worm standing next to Zenith).


	25. Chapter 25

An Undisclosed Location

Salute, Corso Riggs!

I warmly remember our meeting on Taris. You shared a fair bit of your past with us in a friendly and trusting manner. I have reasons to believe that my sister was not as forthcoming. I would like to remedy this, because Tishujen was at least once before befriended by a man of honor and good intentions. He is dear to me, so I know of the hurt it has caused.

Tishujen's Father, Valoran by name, was an exceptionally brave man. There are still tales of his dare-devil exploits as a scout. On one such suicidal mission he saved my Father's life, so in a sense I owe him my very existence as much as Tishujen does. Unfortunately, some men who are apt in earning a hero's status are unable to cope with the responsibility that it implies. Tishujen's Father was one such man, eroded by fame.

After a few ugly incidents, he deserted the Army and wed a dancer from a Hutt owned cantina. For a number of years Valoran kept the family alive selling his services as a mercenary to the Hutts. Alas, prone to upping the stakes, he let his game outpace his abilities. Even more unfortunately, the criminal bosses deduced from either his actions or words that his wife was his partner in the deal that went dreadfully wrong.

Tishujen's Mother was a woman of street wits, and managed to secure a passage to Iridonia through desperate lies and a generous helping of luck. There, she came to my Mother for assistance. The underworld, as you are aware, is guided by a codex of laws as strict (or indeed even stricter) than that of any nations', so all my Mother was able to do was to buy Tishujen's life. Her Mother's was forsaken. That is how in the tenth year of my life I have acquired an elder sister. It took time for us to work through our differences, yet it was ultimately possible. I understand Tishujen as well as anyone could understand another sentient.

Tishujen's encounters with men, I find, are overshadowed by the memories of her Father. I do not believe she trusts loyalty and bravery to be durable. Knowingly or unknowingly, she cuts her losses, or tries to far too early. It is the patience, the most neglected yet most important of all the virtues, that may overcome this pattern.

May the Force be with you,

Quinly Dur

P.S And the same quality, the patience, I advise to exercise wholeheartedly should you come across a young Zabrack with an uncanny resemblance to my Father.

/

Balmorra Orbital Station

Master Quinly!

First of all, I'm sure grateful to hear from you, as Jenny was worried about your silence.

Thank you also for taking your time to write it all up, but the way I reckon, if Jenny wants something, there is nothing in the Galaxy that could stop her, and the same if she doesn't. Jenny's good at getting her way. Even now, she's got the fancy privateering commission from the Republic, and nothing would do but to deck out our freighter with guns and missiles, and fly it into battle zone. It's more a warship now than many a warship I've seen.

I've thought that was dangerous, but she one-upped it, by putting the bird into the orbit round Balmorra. And then she shuttled down with Bowdaar, straight in the Empire's territory. A secret mission for the republic, she won't tell me more. Now Bowdaar's back, and says she's running with a Mandalorian woman. It's been three days, and not a word. Tomorrow, I'm going down, 'cause patience ain't cutting it, Master Quinly. Guess, you give me too much credit.

Yours truly,

Corso Riggs

/ Author's note: The game's getting really awesome at this point. Yay! :)


	26. Chapter 26

Anchorhead, Tatooine

Greetings and salut—

Quinly!

I'm in love. Very much in love. Problem is, I don't know with whom.

Republic's called on me to stop the Empire's work on the Nebula super-project on Balmorra. Oh, Balmorra! Quinly, there I saw my people as they should be, gritty, and smart, and unafraid to stand up for themselves, and good-looking to boot. I swear by the Force, no other Twi'lek woman in sight, so I felt literally like the only woman in the world. Numen Brock was my contact, a wiz with the codes of any kind, military or intimate. I whipped through the battlefields and Imps bases, my blasters on fire, Bowdaar roaring, and a Mandalorian fighter, Akaavi popping up in the darkest places. And through it all, Numen was there, chiding and laughing, and then… Then the Imps had him. Right in the middle of the repressions that harridan Darth Lachris unleashed, where they shot anyone who looked iffy and called the body a Resistance sympathizer.

I've got him out, alive. Akaavi was not so lucky, her kinsman was already dead… and Numen, he's smiled still, behind the shield, his spirit unbroken. Could any woman blame me for wanting to heal his hurts? Could any woman blame me for kissing him in the full and open view of Bugtown? And for doing plenty more away from the prying eyes? It was such a right, good thing to do, to be with a man for whom I was not a Twi'lek girl, but simply a woman. And, no small part, who doesn't have to be taught what to do with a girl's lekku. Riggs, he is so human in his touch, what is their interest in the chest, I ask you?! Apart from when they are babies, that is.

But as I trooped back onto the old bird, thinking to make Balmorra my home port, here comes Riggs, and grabs me and lifts me up in the air. Sometime in that swirling I caught a look in his eyes, and I could not very well to say we're through. Besides, he started talking just then, getting all hot and bothered about someone tapping into Viidu's accounts on Tatooine. Thought maybe one of his old crew has survived. I thought it best we make for Tatooine, to see for ourselves. Well, I tell you, it was not easy, the finding out. You wouldn't believe a Sith horror that nearly ended us. Once we dusted off and bandaged up, we had to crawl along the cliffs to get to Riggs' coordinates, but I'm glad I didn't give up. There was a buddy of his, Jettison, fallen on the hard times, and he fell into cannibals' hands. The freakiest cult there is… or was. Regardless, Jettison, once we got him out of the cannibal's frying pan, he's looked up at me and said: "Captain, you're lucky to have Corso, none is more loyal than he is." It cut me deep, Quinly. Suddenly, what was good and right didn't seem quite so much no more.

We've got back to the ship, and Riggs brought wine over, to celebrate… and we've kissed and kissed, and now he's gone, and I sit here, and apart from tossing a dice, nothing comes to mind. I should probably go chat with Akaavi, though I doubt she's any friendlier than Risha. Kind of have that forbidding look 'bout her.

I miss you,

Tishujen

P.S: Getting a distress call from Quesh, no time for mopping about Balmorra or Ord M!


	27. Chapter 27

Balmorra Orbital Station,

Salute, Tishujen

I can do little, Tishujen, but listen. An emotional turmoil is unavoidable when you strive to give one person a place above another in your heart. All sentients deserve to be loved equally, however, as simple as it sounds, it is a monumental challenge.

Indeed, passions run high on Balmorra, and I speak from the first-hand experience. Now that Tai Cordan is the President elect, I can reveal my involvement in the affairs of this long-suffering planet. The Order assigned me as a mediator between the Republic and the Rift Alliance, a confederation of the now Republic planets purporting to gain an independent status. Supporting Balmorran interests came to the forefront in my attempts to dissuade the Alliance from drastic moves. I was ordered to facilitate Balmorra's annexation from the Empire by the planetary Resistance.

My liaison was not as well-mannered as Numen Brock, though of the same species (and a man, I must add. As I look back to my stay on Balmorra, I cannot recall encountering many females either). I imagine you have heard of Zenith, as he is a prominent activist.

He has made an unfavorable first impression on Tharan Cedrax, I fear, by shooting an Imperial official who's just surrendered to us. The shot came between Tharan and I, from cover, and without our knowledge of Zenith even being there. So, in part, I understand Tharan's squeal and the following disapproval. (In regards to the squeal, he continues to maintain it was Holiday, but I do not credit it.)

After Zenith shot, and Tharan squealed, Zenith became omnipresent. I sliced secret terminals to get one secret communique after another. It reminded me the courting games of Alderaan, except instead of the lovelorn messages, I received action plans, complete with meticulous documentation and intel. ("_Finding out_ is for amateurs", he chastised me on one memorable occasion, "I have the blueprints.") Alas, his efficiency oft comes at the expense of morality. I want to believe it is learned, not inherent to his soul. And what is learned, can be unlearned.

When Tai Cordan (upon his ascension) offered Zenith what was essentially an honorable exile, I thought that the President wronged the man. Zenith deserves compassion, and no small amount of healing to be brought back from the trenches. Like Balmorra itself. I suppose I now have the opportunity to put this theory to the test, as his place of exile is on my ship, and his assignment is to be a liaison to the Alliance (in place of Cordan).

I must go now to intervene because C2-N2 is about to find out that Zenith re-arranged the munitions again. Could I resolve the conflict between the efficiency and aesthetic appeal, the conflict as as old as the sentient beings? Am I sufficiently strong in the Force?

May the Force protect Corso Riggs and you,

Quinly Dur

P.S: I wonder if the perception of the other species attractiveness you have alluded to in your last letter, and a few times before (i.e. pallid complexion) holds true for a male Tw'ilek?

/Coded Message 1:

To Tishujen: Do not release tags to the Republic until Nebula Prototypes are secured for Balmorra's production. Brock thinks highly of you. He could come across intriguing space tales. So can Corso Riggs. Will signal the deal. Zenith

/Coded Message 2:

To Zenith: Already done so, but for Numen, not you, dirtbag. I deal with inconveniences by shooting 'em dead, not giving ground. Count yourself lucky I love my sister and she has illusions about you. Drop dead. Tishujen

/Coded Message 3:

To Tishujen: Same to you. Look who's claiming high moral ground! We can check whose aim is better any day. But I don't shoot if I don't mean it. Don't confuse yourself with your sister. She is perfectly level-headed, what illusions?! Zenith


	28. Chapter 28

_/Author's Note: Thank you everyone who continues reading, I am still amazed that it happens! If I tweak with this one piece any longer I will start screaming. It did not fit into a letter, because of the dialogue, dialogue and more dialogue (with exactly 2 lines of it from the game, that gotta be a record!). And I am not sure how to speed the pace in a short. I've enjoyed thinking about it, but writing it out was not as much fun. I am basically caught into a Mary Sue trap here, love the characters too much, love watching them too much, that kind of thing. If you see what can be trimmed, give me a shout! Well, that's if you don't give up on paragraph 3!_

Master Dur's quarters were impersonal and small, a place of peaceful boredom, decorated in a single earthy shade. Even her meditation stone was not a bright jagged crystal but a muted pebble of Glee Anselm amber. Alas, her visitor was anything but a man of tranquility. She greeted him as he walked through her doors. He smiled a little, but his purple eyes stayed alert, bright: "Your quarters? The ship is equipped with an adequate conference room."

Quinly Dur replied evenly: "I am aware of that, Zenith. I prefer to deal with the personnel issues in private." He chuckled: "Spit it out. Terrorism? Your scientist had another fit of hysteria?"

Quinly motioned him to a small oval table set at the back of the room. "Sit down, please. Eat." The Twi'lek looked bemused: "The problem's that serious? Rations are fine."

"Please, sit down and eat," Quinly indicated the table again with the same fluid gesture she used when working with the Force. But no energy streamed from her fingertips. He walked over and lifted the cover off the plate. A very large piece of meat lay there, surrounded by colorful vegetables and a drizzle of sauce. It was steaming with heat and smelled of savory, spacy and earthy things.

"I tried to strike the middle ground between what my sister Tishujen and my brothers' gastronomic preferences." Quinly commented softly.

Zenith turned his head: "You cooked it yourself, Master Quinly Dur?"

"Sit down, please. Eat," Quinly extended her invitation for the third time without a trace of impatience in her voice. "Yes, I've cooked, Zenith. I do it quite often, as I find it allows me to think through the complex issues and prepare for a meditation."

Zenith shrugged, sat down and sliced off a piece of meat; dipped it into the sauce; chewed and swallowed. "If it is not to your liking, I encourage you to submit your dietary choices to C2-N2," Quinly suggested mildly. Zenith looked up from his plate: "The food's fine. What's your play?"

"I have never seen you enjoy a meal in the few days I had to observe you. You graze on rations. That is going to stop, Zenith. You need to leave the trenches behind you, and fast," Quinly explained. Her voice softened as she saw his eyes starting to narrow: "Your assignment has changed. Your habits will have to change to fit."

"If you want me feel at ease, stop staring at me from the corner. Come, sit. Have a bite." He stabbed another slice with a fork and waved it in her direction.

Without a word of an argument, she pulled a chair over and honored his request. "I would say it does not have quite enough spice for Tishujen's palate." Zenith took a small orange-colored berry from the side plate: "Try it together with this…" and extended it to her lips. "And my lifestyle is efficient. Secured new trade routes for Balmorra with Alauni. All she wanted was a personal favor."

Quinly daintily took the berry into her mouth, touched his fingers with her lips very lightly. She closed her eyes to better discern the taste, then nodded: "Very good." She offered one to him in her stead. "Personal how?"

He held her eyes for a moment: "Personal enough." And bit in. Quinly let him enjoy the fruit and busied herself with pouring the wine; extended the full glass without another word.

"Unless you took me for a very slow eater, there was something else. Booked two hours of my time." Zenith took a sip, swirled the wine around; looked at her above the rim. Took another sip. Then he pulled over the holocom: "Do I dismiss the droid so he doesn't barge in to clean up?"

"Belay that," Quinly smiled politely. "I didn't book two hours, Zenith."

"An honest mistake then?" Zenith said, finishing the wine. "Am I free to go if I promise to eat well?" He made to stand up, wobbled and sat back heavily into the chair.

"It was ten hours," Quinly's smile grew broader, but she watched him very carefully. "You will find the changes to your agenda if you check the datapad again. All your meetings were cancelled to free up your time."

"What I'm scheduled for?" His jaw tightened. "Discussion of the personnel issues?"

She checked her datapad: "You won't be able to talk about anything in approximately three to four minutes time, depending on your exact weight. I suggest you make yourself comfortable. Unless you prefer me to lift you into the bunk after you fall asleep."

Zenith glanced at his wine and cursed under his breath. "You've poisoned me."

"Do not worry; this is not a poison, but a simple sleeping draught," Quinly kept her smile going. "Okay. Why?" Zenith insisted.

"You sleep less than forty percent of what Tishujen does. Now you are going to sleep like a regular Twi'lek. I request that afterwards you will not use stims unless we are under fire, and it is either staying sharp or being dead. You will be more tired than normal for a week or two, but it will pass. In the meantime you have my leave to lighten your schedule. Now, please, make yourself comfortable. I much rather you got to bed by yourself."

He lifted his palm: "Okay. Not sure what in blazes goes in your head, but you've won this one. Never thought a woman would invite me to her bed to sleep."

"I am glad you are agreeable," Quinly inclined her head slightly towards the bunk.

He made it to the bunk in a bit of a lurching walk, and laughed when she swiftly turned away from him: "Like a sight of a naked man can rattle you."

"Not any man, no," she said under her breath, her back resolutely rigid. "Trust me, I fully understand that I've intruded, Zenith. I apologize and I promise to not take it farther than necessary." He made a disbelieving grunt.

Her voice softened again. "I do not have the luxury of time to wait for you to come to the same conclusions. You cannot see it right now."

"Got that right," the boots dropped to the floor.

"For months, maybe years, you've lived under the threat of imminent death. The staying power did not matter. Winning the day did. You've burned all you've got," there was a touch of wonder in her voice.

"Okay. It worked, what's your worry?" His words came out muffled by the shirt that was going over his head.

"Zenith, you have very little left, I sense it clearly. It is time for you to learn to function as someone who is going to last long enough to see the Empire pushed back," there was a crisp finality of a professional call to her statement.

Quinly finally turned around and walked towards the bed. "You are going to eat decent meals. At least twice a day. Sleep long enough. Socialize with my crew."

"Very well," Zenith drawled dozily watching her approach. "Going to take care of _all_ my needs?"

"No. Just encourage you to attend to them." Zenith moved from his side to his stomach, carful of the lekku. She paused, not seeing a way to find the pulse on his neck without disturbing them. She took his wrist instead and counted. "I will stay a short while to make sure there are no side effects. I am not going to leave it to chance."

"Not surprised," he muttered into the thin pillow, falling asleep. "Sweet dreams," she whispered and sat at the edge of the bed for a time listening to the deep even breaths. Better.

Instead of going straight to the bridge, Quinly Dur stopped by the conference room. Alauni barred her way immediately: "Where is Zenith? We have complex matters to go through, and I was told by your droid that out meeting was cancelled!" Quinly smiled placidly: "C2-N2 gave you accurate information. Zenith is on a medical leave. The man has a warzone trauma to his psyche and it can jeopardize our mission."

Alauni looked at her suspiciously, and said in an undertone: "I have not seen him in the medical bay." Quinly nodded her agreement: "It is a big ship, Ambassador. If my patient requires rest, I secure means for him to not to be disturbed."

"In the future I want such drastic changes to my schedule coordinated with me. It impedes Alliance work," Alauni managed to make her voice steely even though she spoke very quietly now.

"I understand your frustration, Ambassador," Quinly inclined her head a fraction, a polite bow. She let her voice rose to a normal level (maybe a shade above) as she continued: "Fortuitously, Ambassador, this small scheduling conflict should not render you unproductive. You now have the time to bring the rest of the Alliance Delegates up to date on the Balmorran trade routes. I am sure everyone will appreciate the chance to participate in such an important collaboration armed with the most accurate information."

Alauni opened her mouth to respond, but Quinly was not standing in front of her any longer. Instead she was exiting through the doors across the room to the bridge. A Sarkhai Delegate's young daughter, one Nadia Grell, giggled softly behind Quinly's retreating back.

At the Bridge, Quinly checked the navicomputer and the Republic Command. All was well in this corner of space. Then she allowed herself to slip into the meditation pose and concentrated on slowing down her heart rate. She would have to practice using the Force to sprint away from harm more often. In Hiboco's mighty shadow, the application was almost unnecessary. Still, it was odd that attempting it after a disuse caused her heart to race quite so much.


End file.
